Her compassion was in her eyes.
'You too—old and alone—like the Contessa!' she said under her breath.
He did not hear. He was pursuing his own train of thought, and presently he raised himself. Never had the apostolic dignity of his white head, his broad brow been more commanding. But what Eleanor saw, what perplexed her, was the subtle tremor of the lip, the doubt in the eyes.
'So you see, madame, our pleasant hours are almost over. In a few days I must be gone. I will not attempt to express what I owe to your most kind, most indulgent sympathy. It seems to me that in the "dark wood" of my life it was your conversation—when my heart was so sorely cast down—which revived my intelligence—and so held me up, till—till I could see my way, and choose my path again. It has given me a great many new ideas—this companionship you have permitted me. I humbly confess that I shall always henceforward think differently of women, and of the relations that men and women may hold to one another. But then, madame—'
He paused. Eleanor could see his hand trembling on his knee.
She raised herself on her elbow.
'Father Benecke! you have something to say to me!'
He hurried on.
'The other day you allowed us to change the rôles. You had been my support. You threw yourself on mine. Ah! Madame, have I been of any assistance to you—then, and in the interviews you have since permitted me? Have I strengthened your heart at all as you strengthened mine?'
His ardent, spiritual look compelled—and reassured her.